


Bubble

by HM (HyperMint)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Study, Current Events, Established Relationship, How Do I Tag, M/M, POV Eames (Inception), Podfic Welcome, Quarantine, Quiet, Romantic Fluff, fanworks welcome, not criminals, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:08:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23438209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyperMint/pseuds/HM
Summary: There's something to be said about being alone with someone you absolutely can't live without.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	Bubble

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine.
> 
> AN: At times like these, I feel like we all need a bubble to calm our nerves and feel safe in. Or at least someone to give us really tight hugs.

* * *

Arthur's breathing was soft and deep, his head turned away as he slept on his back.

The streetlight outside painted thin stripes along the sheets, none of them daring to land on Arthur.

Eames smiled slightly from his spot next to him on the bed, head propped on a hand as he watched.

His Arthur.

His Darling.

He had never met someone who captured his attention so completely like Arthur did.

And Arthur quite honestly didn't seem to realize how special he truly was, catching Eames' fond looks and giving puzzled frowns in response. He was so effortless at demanding Eames' attention even when he didn't think he needed it.

It wasn't just one thing about him that Eames was drawn to, it wasn't explainable or even there to put into words.

But he was enthralled and he didn't need a reason to question any of it.

When he was awake, Arthur was efficient and knew how to get things done the right way. His focus was inspiring and the contained energy in the slender form found outlets in the little things Eames suspected Arthur didn't even realize he did, in the sweep of his pencil as he drew out thoughts of buildings and put them on tangible paper. 

Not working, Arthur seemed to let all the focused, efficient energy slowly drain from him as he slumped on the couch or in an armchair put in the optimal placement for Eames to notice as soon as he walked in the door. The Arthur who smiled softly and accepted soft kisses at the end of the day was a particular favorite of his, even as he enjoyed watching Working Arthur. 

Bedtime Arthur ...

That Arthur shattered so beautifully in his arms that it was all Eames could do to hold off before slender fingers tugged his mouth to him, keeping his mouth there to give Eames that final push off the edge while dealing with his own freefall.

Arthur was particularly adamant that they come as close together as they could, the sense of connection and the romantic idea of intertwining souls so very addicting yet a bit frustrating when trying to give Arthur the spotlight. 

Eames couldn't claim to have many lovers who demanded his own release as a condition for theirs, the first time Arthur rode him surfacing in his mind's eye. He'd meant every intention to drive Arthur to ruin, his Darling surprising him at the last minute with fierce brown eyes.

'I only come when you do,' he remembered with perfect clarity as if Arthur had repeated it in the here and now. No matter what it was they got up to, Arthur demanded Eames come with him even as Eames wanted to lavish richly deserved attention on his love without necessarily seeking release himself.

He'd thought it an endearing quirk, but there were times when he started questioning it due to the almost desperate plea he'd never heard spoken. 

Whether it had always been a quirk with Arthur or maybe the quirk started coming out only with Eames, he wasn't sure. He had a bit of a suspicion that there was a story behind it, but - if there was one - Arthur wasn't about to tell him any time soon and that was okay.

He'd waited this long for him, he could wait years more for him to entrust his secrets. Eames had his own, after all.

The slightly bared figure in front of him didn't look like he was going to awaken soon, Eames taking the opportunity to brush a light fingertip down the hollow of his love's throat where the pulse met his finger.

Arthur was alive and well, safe in his dreams and in their shared bed and completely removed from the outside world.

It felt magical like this, just the pair of them and endless time on their hands. 

Eames could sketch and paint this all day if he wanted to - and he had -, but there was certainly something to be said of living in the moment where he could reach out and feel warm skin and that beat against his finger. Arthur was in arm's reach, after all, always had been for a bit longer than Eames had thought possible.

Arthur was more enchanting in life than on paper and canvas, no matter how good Arthur claimed his art was. There was always something he couldn't put into the picture and it sometimes drove him mad, but he was still trying.

Arthur would still question why he was the subject of so many pictures and Eames still couldn't come up with the words to explain in a way that Arthur wouldn't immediately scoff at.

Even the thought of Arthur scoffing at him - as he'd done so many times in the past - had a smile crossing his face.

He watched his finger lightly resting on Arthur's throat and recalled the last time he'd used Arthur as a living canvas. 

Normally, Eames would take the 'safe' markers and draw whatever came to his mind with Arthur lying as still as he could for as long as Eames wanted, but it was never more than an hour. He'd had to coax Arthur into doing the first time, after all, and had even offered his own body up for a trial run. 

Normally, Arthur would refuse adding input, trusting Eames with a sincerity that still shook him every time he witnessed it, but the last time was different.

Last time, he'd specifically hesitated when Eames offered to put anything he wanted and Eames had pounced on it, curious and patient as Arthur waged a fierce inner debate before reluctantly giving voice to the request.

While Arthur himself wasn't Jewish, others in his family had been and he'd felt particularly melancholy about his family that day. Eames had made absolutely sure the drawn necklace would be carefully hidden behind Arthur's clothing unlike the marks his oldest relatives wished they could hide.

His finger rested just above where he'd drawn the pendant, the absolute fondness he had about his Arthur's heart washing over him.

He certainly had a big heart, though he hid it well.

When he did decide to show it, there were precious few he chose to show it to and Eames - for whatever unfathomable reason - was placed on the very top of the list. With that placement, however, came the almost terrifying responsibility of keeping it safe and whole and there were times Eames was simply afraid to touch Arthur because hearts were very fragile things and he couldn't help the tendency to treat Arthur like glass.

Then there were times where Arthur would look at him and remind him that there was an inner strength hidden in his brown eyes, that his heart may be fragile to some degree but stronger than Eames would have convinced himself to believe. 

Other times ...

Arthur acted like _Eames_ was made of glass, too, touches hesitant and slight worry on his face, which - if Eames didn't know better - spoke of a terrifying realization about Eames himself. 

He was sure the familiar behavior/reason for that behavior was projected, however, because there was no possible _way_ Arthur was as deeply in love with Eames as Eames was with him.

Oh, he didn't doubt Arthur loved him. They'd said as much with words, but Arthur didn't necessarily need words to convey his affections. 

Even their mutual friends knew Arthur thought the world of them in his own way; straightening a tie here, fixing a scarf or collar there, even brushing hair back into place and making certain people blink in unaccustomed shock as they lost track of their train of thought.

Eames always found that _hilarious_ because Arthur had been friends with most of them longer than Eames had known Arthur and he'd have thought all of them were used to the infrequent touches by now.

Each of them were themselves tactile and Eames was always entertained by the group as a whole, some obviously taking Arthur in stride and those claimed to be Arthur's closest friends stunned every time.

But, when he really thought about it, perhaps he was entertained by momentary stillness brought on through infrequency simply because not an hour went by that Arthur didn't touch _him_ and he was used to it - expecting it all the time.

Sure, he'd paused when he'd first felt the fingers brushing his shoulders mere days after their first meeting when they were still technically strangers, but he'd also felt honored that someone - no matter who it was - felt comfortable enough with him that they would take to him so quickly.

He always wanted Arthur to be comfortable with him - even before ... this.

Even back when they'd barely known each other, Eames wanted Arthur to feel comfortable around him, had seen a glimmer of his future with this reserved - shy? - brunet and had possibly even known that what they would have was seriously unlike anything he'd ever built with anyone else.

He'd always been told he had an active imagination, but he knew that he would never have been able to dream this up even at his most creative. 

After all, as a wise young scarf-loving friend of his sagely told him once after being woken up at three am due to Eames having a panic stricken realization: "You have this unique ability to dream up everyone else's future with unparalleled creativity born out of the love you have for us, but it's the future _you_ dream up for yourself that always seems to pale in comparison. You always tell us to 'dream a little bigger', but I always wonder just how much you think you deserve because - when it comes to you yourself - you don't seem to dream very big at all. And that's both really, really sad and kind of enabling me as a friend to dream a little bigger for you. Because we all need someone to dream a little bigger for us, whether we think we deserve it or not."

That was the kind of thing that got her as Speed Dial Number One on his mobile, Arthur as Number Two. Something Arthur himself knew well, Eames being Number Two on his own list and his own voice of reason as Number One.

Eames still couldn't remember how his young friend's number ended up on his contacts list because he was fairly certain he never asked for it, but was grateful for it being there nonetheless.

He blinked out of his thoughts as Arthur stretched slightly in his sleep, his hand making its way back to his own side of the bed as Arthur settled again, this time with his face turned slightly toward him.

He knew it was probably the body's natural need to reposition and the bedding just made it appear that Arthur still sought him whilst unaware, but there was something in his chest that still squeezed his insides with untold fondness and absolute affection as the thought entered his mind. 

Heaven knew, he always sought Arthur out whether he knew or not - or cared either way -, delighting in every touch that meant Arthur had sought him out, too, going out of his way to make sure Eames knew that.

A brush of fingers on the shoulder, a slight touch on the arm, later the grip of a hand on his wrist or fingers shamelessly entangled with his own, Arthur's weight against him in and out of bed driven by heat and desire or the simple need for touch that had him curled in Eames' lap and was content with just being there. 

The affection shone so clear at that precious unspoken trust, in warm brown eyes and even the most chaste kiss on the corner of the mouth.

Arthur loved him with words and actions that he would recognize even should he lose memory about him and their time together - something he'd realized when bored one day and answering silly questions from a girl's magazine. 

His deepest fear was forgetting Arthur - his Darling with beautiful brown eyes, affectionate touches, all the details he didn't know how to explain individually but treasured all the same - or anything about him and on some level he wondered if Arthur knew that. Sometimes, Eames would watch him and memorize every detail - the shade of red on his nose as the cold winter night tapped at it, the warm sunshine turning ruffled brown hair into a veritable mishmash of individual colors that you had to study to see in full, the way he thoughtfully sifted sand through his fingers as he sat on a beach with knees tucked to his chest - and Arthur would always catch him staring, but he simply wouldn't question it, giving him a warm smile whenever their eyes connected.

Probably why Arthur didn't object too hard about being the subject of so many pictures.

Question it, yes, but not make such a fuss over it.

Sometimes, Eames just had this urge to copy a memory down and something might show on his face, Arthur not even questioning it as if he knew Eames needed it to happen.

Needed it like little else he craved to create.

That understanding was just another reason for Eames to love him.

And maybe he was being a bit sentimental when thinking this, but there were times he wondered - seriously - if Arthur had been made solely for him.

He couldn't find any other explanation for just how right it felt with Arthur.

He would probably never find an explanation for why him or why Arthur and it didn't bother him as much as one would think.

He wasn't sure he wanted an explanation.

Arthur was his and he was Arthur's and they loved each other in myriad ways that didn't need words and some that did and he just wanted to be with Arthur for the rest of their lives.

It was something he'd never thought he would ever consider before.

Being with someone forever.

That said, though, he didn't ...

He didn't want to think about a future without Arthur.

There wouldn't _be_ a future without Arthur.

The crystal clear realization both settled something very deep inside his being and unsettled something located somewhere else yet not too far from the first something and a strange panic slowly started rising up.

Panic over the idea of Arthur one day not being in his life or the fact that Eames would follow Arthur literally anywhere just to be together - and _he was completely alright with that._

There was a line between obsession and love and it was at that moment he realized that perhaps that line was nowhere near as clear a drawn line should be. 

Could obsessive love be a thing or was love, at some level on the scale, a sort of obsession at its very base? There were types of unhealthy love, but where would this fall under?

The idea that love could be so all consuming that it was simply the logical next step for one partner to follow the other into another life.

Was that healthy?

Would Arthur mind that Eames felt even a degree of that for him?

At what point was it unhealthy if it was accepted on both sides?

Oh god, it was too late in the night for this.

And too early in the morning, too.

A crackle of nervous, panicky energy infused his limbs and he barely stopped himself from simply flinging the covers off and jumping out of bed, because Arthur deserved all the sleep he could get and he most certainly didn't deserve a bed partner that was suddenly completely unsettled by his own affections and who wake Arthur due to restless movements.

Instead, he took a deep breath and slowly inched out from under the covers, careful to not jostle the bed, and made for the door and the freedom of the rest of the flat to panic in.

There was something to be said about being alone with someone you absolutely could _not_ live without, he thought almost hysterically as he slowly eased the bedroom door shut behind him. It allowed you to realize just how in over your head you were when it came to that someone and made you just as suddenly understand that there was literally no end to the emotion filling you up, trickling into your lungs, squeezing your heart and drawing every fiber of your being to them with something as simple as a touch of their hand.

He'd heard of what falling in love with someone was like; the idealized poetry and romantic images of Middle Ages coupled with almost shallow words and schoolgirl-esque dreamy sighs about whatever trashy novel they were into that week.

Well, at least that's what he figured falling in love was like.

This, though, was _nothing_ like that.

He didn't know what it was, how to explain it, but love just didn't seem _enough_ to describe the terrifying feeling crowding his every breath and closing his throat. 

This didn't feel like love - it was something _bigger_.

Something he'd never experienced before.

But, to be fair, he'd never been in love before, either.

How was he to know if this wasn't normal?

Maybe everyone developed this unnameable surge of deep affection when it came to romantic relationships at some point, some possibly deeper than others but normal nonetheless.

Right?

...right.

Regardless, it unsettled him enough and he dithered about what to do with himself out in the living room before taking up the remote and sliding behind the large leather ottoman to collapse on the sofa.

Unfortunately, it was on a news channel.

Countries were on lockdown, individual states were on lockdown and it was only a matter of time before this quarantine became a national lockdown. The public was in a state of panic and the collective American health system in a state of chaos.

Had he thought some television was going to be _calming_?

Dear god.

He turned the television off and heaved a deep sigh, dropping his head into his hands and squeezing his eyes shut.

The world was never going to be the same after all was said and done.

Essentials running out thanks to panic stricken customers who thought the world was at an end - granted, it did seem more and more like it with every passing day -, businesses shutting down and restaurants slowly switching over to take-out and delivery.

Someone up there wanted to create a social experiment and this was the result.

And once this was over - the end nowhere in sight even this early on -, Eames had the feeling that anxiety was going to dog everyone's outings as this opened their eyes to the dangers of being a social society. Unfortunately, it was already damning that people still gathered in places despite stay-at-home orders, making the entire vicious cycle guaranteed to keep going for a long time to come.

He'd been stuck in Arthur's space for long enough that he didn't want the American out of his sight for any reason, so perhaps this crisis was something of a blessing.

He didn't have to leave his Arthur's side, but that terrifying drowning feeling ...

The realization that he didn't want to be an Eames without Arthur ...

This entire situation was scary, but Arthur was with him - his feelings scaring him in a completely different way - and if Arthur was with him then it was okay. A two-person bubble of co-dependency that neither of them seemed ready or willing to break.

He wished with all his heart that they stayed like this even without all the outside influences, because even as bloody terrifying as it is he had never been happier in his life. And he wanted to keep being happy for the rest of his life.

Could someone learn to live with being terrified of his own feelings?

He was suddenly aware of soft footsteps coming toward him, the creak of leather from the ottoman in front as a weight sunk onto it.

"Hey," Arthur whispered. 

He scrubbed his hands down his face and finally looked up.

Arthur's brown eyes were soft in the dim lighting, a small curious smile curling his lips as he mirrored Eames' position on the edge of the ottoman in front of him, slightly curly hair dropping almost into his eyes. "Anything going on out there?"

So he'd seen the telly light from the bed.

"The world is under lockdown, rioting in the streets and we're all going to die."

"Sounds about right," he huffed a laugh. "So nothing's changed in the last eight hours."

He hummed non-committedly and ruffled his own blond/brown hair. "I didn't mean to wake you," he said quietly. "You seemed like you were going to stay under for hours, yet."

"Should've stayed in bed, then," Arthur smiled slightly. "You'd left and I couldn't get back to sleep. It's really kind of ridiculous how I got used to sharing a bed so quickly and how dependent I've become on not sleeping without you."

"Flirt," he accused, not sure what to do with that or how to process it on top of everything else.

Arthur simply shrugged, Eames recognizing his own shirt on the thinner frame as it slid slightly off of one shoulder. He must've just picked it up from the chair, along with the shorts he'd been wearing the other day.

They lapsed into silence, the soft white Christmas lights Arthur had twined around his ceiling as a repurposed nightlight shining down on them. Arthur watched him with dark eyes, studying him with that quietly intent way he had when it came to Eames.

It was almost like Arthur was memorizing every detail of him the same way Eames memorized him, a small smile touching his lips and making his expression even softer in the dim light from overhead. 

That was a look he always wanted to remember, to tuck safely into the corners of his mind to add to the mental photo album that his artistic talents wouldn't be able to do justice. There were a lot of photos in that mental album.

His hair dimly reflected the light while dark eyes reflected something else and, as Eames stared, he felt that overwhelming feeling again.

The one that said he was deeply, madly, hopelessly, indubitably, _helplessly_ in love with the man in front of him and for one wild moment Arthur looked like he not only knew but _understood_ what he simply couldn't say.

He swallowed again and again, struggling for some kind of response, but Arthur was suddenly in his lap and shushing him as he was gathered up in strong arms, his head guided down to the point where shoulder met neck as his own arms were encouraged to move, wrap, refuse to let Arthur go.

"It's okay," Arthur whispered in his ear, something unbelievably warm in his voice as he threaded his fingers through Eames' hair. "It's okay, I've got you."

He let out a noise that he honestly thought might've been a sob, his arms drawing Arthur impossibly closer as his fingers twisted in the shirt's fabric.

"I've got you," Arthur assured, his grip just as unrelenting on Eames, words sounding like a promise. "I've got you."

Love wasn't actually as all encompassing a word as people would have you believe.

But as Eames clung to Arthur, who was clinging just as tightly back, he couldn't bring himself to care as Arthur whispered, "I love you so, _so_ much," with a ferocity that said he did know and he did understand because he felt it, too.

That unnamable something that drowned you when you were with that someone for hours - days - on end and you wouldn't want to be anywhere else with anyone else for anything at all in the world. 

The something that was bigger, deeper, more _terrifying_ than what the word 'love' was supposed to signify.

Later, he would be settled enough to process all of this, to delight in the knowledge he wasn't the only one who felt it, but for now he let Arthur hold him together as he let the storm roll over him, knowing he was safe in Arthur's arms.

* * *

End

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I did not tag something you might see as a kink simply because - in this case - I don't see it as one. 
> 
> You can look at it either as Arthur wanting Eames to experience the extreme pleasure that he himself experiences and the romantic he denies being demands they experience it at the same time -
> 
> OR
> 
> \- something connected to Arthur's past that Eames will one day find out about.
> 
> I leave that decision up to you.
> 
> If something about this story inspires something in you, please know you are welcome to create it. Arthur POV response fic and all. ;)
> 
> Thank you for reading. #alonetogether


End file.
